It Just Happened
by MsBarrows
Summary: Based on a post on Tumblr, where it was pointed out that there's some evidence that Orana was going to end up in the Blooming Rose if Hawke sent her away (a brothel orana file). Someone else mentioned they now wanted a Jethann/Orana BrOTP fic... and then this happened. Previously posted in my "In The Maker's Light" ficlet collection.


The new girl caught Jethann's eye. She had the very highly-bred look of a Tevinter elf, where the magisters bred their elven slaves like pets, for the traits they admired or wanted. She had that look about her; a face all high-cheekboned frail beauty, and a body well-suited to daily hard work, with the platinum blond hair that was one of the colours the magisters were said to favour and breed for. Decorative _and_ useful. Much like himself, really.

Though his own decorativeness was a matter of studied habit and daily ritual, not of careful breeding, and his usefulness the result of years of hard work and training, some self-taught and some from accomplished masters of the art of the bedchamber. In truth he was as common as mud, apart from a depth of eye colour and size of pupil rare even among elves, which gave him, so he'd been told, a particularly _intense_ gaze. Everything else about him was artifice, from his manner of speaking to the poses he took when standing or moving, his soft milky complexion the result of a careful avoidance of anything more than the most minimal of sunlight, regular exfoliation, and the twice-daily application of expensive lotions.

Which he'd been in the middle of doing when the girl had entered by the concealed servant's entry, bucket full of cleaning supplies in hand, to see to the room. She'd stopped and actually squeaked in surprise. He supposed she hadn't expected there to be anyone actually _in_ the room, other than herself.

"Don't mind me," he said, twiddling his fingers dismissively. "You have your job to do, I have mine," he said, and went back to gently smoothing lotion along his other arm.

"Y-yes ser," she said nervously, and looked around, all wide-eyes and hesitation, clearing unsure of what to do, and a Tevinter accent clear in even those few words, which pleased him greatly since it supported his guess as to her origins.

"The tap is in the bathroom – through there," he said, gesturing at the far door. She dipped a shallow curtsey toward him and hurried off through the door. The lack of any further vocal reaction pleased him further; his guess that she was a house-slave supported by her lack of any reaction to the bathroom and its fittings, many of a type that would be considered rather unusual anywhere outside of a whorehouse or the mansions of the more decadent or depraved sorts. He could hear water running as she filled her bucket, and then the familiar sounds of things being cleaned. Not that there was much in there that actually _needed_ a cleaning, the room having already been done first thing in the morning, but Jethann liked the place kept as clean and sweet-smelling as he kept his own person, which meant that whenever he was seeing to himself, someone saw to his rooms. As he'd remarked to Madame Lusine once when she'd complained about the cost of it, customers didn't mind if a whore or a whorehouse looked like what it was, but that didn't mean they'd like it if it smelled like one. And since he'd already become her highest earner, Lusine eventually agreed with his reasoning. So he got his breaks and his baths, and his room was the cleanest-kept in the whole establishment.

He'd finished his arms and legs, and moved onto his feet by the time she returned from the bathroom to tackle cleaning the bedroom itself. She gave him just a single nervous glance before efficiently stripped the bed and carrying off the bedclothes, returning with a folded pile of clean sheets and remaking it both quickly and neatly, not a wasted motion in what she did. Then she started scrubbing the floor; not the whole thing, just the area near the fireplace where things had gotten a little excitedly messy with his last client. It didn't take her very long, and afterwards she wiped the area dry with soft rags. That done, she rose, and looked around the room.

"Is there anything else that wants doing, messere?" she asked worriedly.

"No, that's good enough for now. Thank you," he said, and smiled warmly at her. It was his policy to always be pleasant with those who made his life more comfortable, and that most definitely included the servants. Besides, she _had_ done a quite thorough job of everything that actually needed cleaning, and quickly too, which pleased him.

She gathered up her things, dipped him another of those little curtseys, and left. He found himself wondering what had brought her here, and if his guesses about her background were at all right. He'd have to ask, he decided, the next time he had a talk with Lusine.

* * *

"The new girl? Orana? The blond?" Madame Lusine asked, one eyebrow raising slightly as she helped herself to one of the dainty little pastries on the platter between them.

"Is that her name? Yes, the nervous little blond," Jethann agreed, and poured for both of them, sweetening Lusine's cup to her tastes before passing it across to her, taking his own plain.

Lusine snorted softly, and then smiled at him in a way that he'd decided was fondly, though with Lusine it was hard to be certain; she was as good as he at concealing her true feelings, when she wanted to be, and only letting show what she wanted to. As equally as useful a skill for a Madame as it was for a whore, and of course she'd been both in her time.

"Taking an interest?" she asked a little suspiciously.

"No, merely curious. Tevinter elf?"

"Yes."

"How did she end up here in Kirkwall, then?"

Lusine shrugged. "Some fool of a magister brought her here, and got herself killed, as far as I could make out from her story."

"And _here_, to the Rose?"

Lusine smiled, and actually seemed on the verge of laughing. "Showed up at the front door with money in hand, and said that she'd been told to come here, when she asked someone where she might find a room for the night. Poor thing looked like she wanted to sink through the floor, once I got it through to her what sort of place this was, and that most of the beds only came with someone else already in them. Or expected shortly. And she was clearly neither looking for the one, nor of the right temperament to be suited to the other."

"Though she certainly has the looks for it," Jethann said.

"Yes. Pretty little thing, isn't she? Anyway, I was in a generous mood, and we've needed someone new ever since Linn left."

"Mmm," Jethann grunted, a sound of agreement; Linn had been one of the better maids; he'd quite liked her. But she'd married a year ago, and begun swelling several months back, and been frugal enough with her wages at the Rose over the years not to have to work right until she popped out a baby, so she'd left. "She does good work," he said thoughtfully, having seen Orana clean his rooms several times now, and been very pleased with her thoroughness.

"Yes, it does seem to have worked out rather well. A pity she's so nervous about everything."

"Coming from Tevinter, the two likely go hand in hand," Jethann said dryly. "They're not exactly _kind_ in how they train their servants, you know."

Lusine nodded. "I've heard," she agreed, and made a face. "There'll be none of _that_ here, of course."

"Not unless someone is willing to pay quite highly for it, anyway," Jethann added in a jaded tone of voice, lips quirking, and they both laughed before turning to other, more interesting subjects.

* * *

Jethann finished trimming his nails, and set aside the clippers to pick up the nail file, carefully smoothing the edges. For a select few clients he'd file them to have nice sharp edges, but most of his clientele preferred him to be soft and smooth all over, and gentle. Not that _they_ always were, but that came with the territory, and they knew not to mark him; that cost extra, since it would mean a day or two of having to turn away clients who disliked seeing signs of someone else's use on him.

He could hear Orana humming softly to herself as she cleaned the bathroom; a pleasant sound. She had a good ear, and stayed on tune. He looked up as she came into the room, and smiled. "Are you happy here?" he asked her, struck by a sudden curiosity over her apparent cheerfulness.

She gave him that startled-doe look, and flushed a little. "I suppose I am," she said quietly, voice all tight and tense, as if she was afraid to express any opinion at all. Which given her background, she likely was. Independent thought and especially _opinions_ were not something exactly encouraged by the magisters, by everything he'd ever heard of Tevinter. A slave who anticipated one's needs out of an obvious desire to please or fear of punishment if they didn't was acceptable; a slave who betrayed that they had any thoughts beyond serving their master was due for punishment.

"You hum very nicely. Do you sing at all?" he asked, moving on to buffing his nails, pretending to be far more interested in his task than in her answer, a stratagem he'd found usually worked with her..

"Yes, messere, I was trained for that," she said, looking apprehensive, as if admitting to any skill beyond what she was currently being called upon for was dangerous, and then quickly moved away, dropping to hands and knees to begin washing the floor. It being the morning cleaning, that meant scrubbing and drying the whole floor, not just spot-cleaning.

"_Not_ messere," he corrected her. "The clientele are called that. Just call me Jethann," he said, then seeing the panicked look that immediately showed on her face, sighed internally. "Or ser, if you can't manage Jethann."

"Yes, ser," she managed, voice a tight little squeak again.

"Just singing? Or other accomplishments as well?" he asked her, admiring the subtle gloss he'd achieved before picking up the clippers again and beginning work on his other hand.

She nervously twisted the cloth rag she was currently holding, then suddenly responded in a rush of words. "Singing, yes, and playing the lute, the lap-harp, the great-harp, and the flute. And cooking... I'm a _good_ cook, at least for plain food," she said, sounding momentarily apprehensive again. "And I know carding, spinning, weaving, sewing, embroidery, the making of simple clothing, and enough gardening to take care of a herb garden and flower beds and indoor plants." She came to an abrupt stop, looking flustered and uncertain. "And the care and feeding of several different pets," she added hesitantly after a brief pause, while Jethann stared at her in mild surprise.

"What sort of pets?" he asked, fascinated, and resumed his manicure.

"Oh," she said, sounding a little surprised herself, and then visibly relaxed slightly, bending back to her drying of the just-cleaned section of floor. "Birds, mostly. _He_ had a lot of them. Fish, dogs – little lap-dogs, not the big ones I've seen around here. Cats, both great and small. And he had a snake for a while, until he decided he didn't like how it smelled."

"Huh," Jethann said. "That's a lot. Wait... he? I'd heard your master was female?"

She glanced up, looking vaguely distressed again. "She was. The one who brought me here was. But for many years we lived in _her_ master's house, while she was in training. I was one of _his_ servants, until he gave my father and I to her."

"And did she keep pets?"

She bit her lip, looking frightened, then bent back to her work, scrubbing vigorously at the floor, though she'd long-since removed whatever stains had been there. "Not animals," she finally said, very quietly.

"Ah," he said softly, putting away his manicure set. "One of _those_ sorts of people. Not a nice woman, I take it?"

"No," again in that very small and frightened voice. And then, after a lengthy enough silence that he didn't think she was going to talk again, she sat back on her heels and turned to look directly at him. "She killed my father. When we were found here. To power her magic."

"Definitely not nice," he said softly. "I'm sorry."

She shrugged, and bent back to her work. "Why? It wasn't because of anything you did."

He frowned at the tone she'd said that in. "I doubt it was because of anything _he_ did, either. Or that you did."

"I keep telling myself that," Orana said, voice wavering a little. "But it's hard to believe. Mostly... mostly she only did that to the ones she was unhappy with. So I think there must have been something he'd done..." She broke off, and sat back again, hands clenched into fists in her lap, eyes shut tight. "_Why would she do that_," she exclaimed, voice breaking. "He was always so careful. Why did she... she..."

And burst into tears. For a moment Jethann sat frozen, startled by her outburst, and then mentally cursed himself for a fool. He should have realized that he was wandering onto sensitive ground, that an ex-Tevinter slave, especially one as clearly frightened of everything as Orana was, would have horrors in her past.

Then his better side kicked in, and he abandoned his seat by the vanity to hurry over and comfort her. It wasn't the first time he'd ever have a woman sobbing on his shoulder before, nor would it likely be the last – just one of the many hazards of the job, after all – but it was the first time where he was at a complete loss as to what to say to possibly comfort someone. He had to settle for patting and rubbing her back and making the "there, there" sorts of senseless comments, until she finally subsided.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she exclaimed, sitting back, eyes widening as she noticed how sopping wet the shoulder of his outfit now was. "Oh, no... oh, I shouldn't have..." she exclaimed, hands fluttering ineffectually around it, not quite daring to pat at it with her drying cloth.

"Shhh now, no apologies or shouldn't haves. I shouldn't have pried, and I'm sorry for doing so, and sorry for upsetting you. Only not _entirely _sorry, because judging by how that went, you really needed to have a good long cry about it, didn't you, my dear?" he asked her. "Now, you just have a seat, and I'm going to ring for some tea for the two of us, and you're going to stay here until you're feeling better. And you can talk or not talk, whichever you'd rather do. All right?"

"Oh, no, I couldn't... you shouldn't..."

"But I'm going to anyway," he overrode her firmly. "Here, sit," he said, and guided her to the chair by the vanity, then went and yanked a couple of times on the bell-pull, in the signal for tea. "I don't have a client for at least another hour," he told her – not entirely truthfully, but the one he _did_ have due later was the type who would be all the better after the frustration of having had to wait a little while anyway – "You can keep me company for a while, because I'll worry about you if you leave while this upset. All right?"

"All right," she agreed in a very small and uncertain voice.

He fetched a cold damp cloth for her to clean her face, and then went behind the screen in the corner to quickly strip out of the tear-stained tunic, putting it into the laundry basket and putting on a clean one, by which time there was a tray of tea and little nibblements waiting on a tray by the servant's entrance, which he fetched and carried over to the bed, setting it down and then taking a seat to one side of it. "Come join me," he said, and then frowned thoughtfully at the half-panicked look she had again. "Bring the chair if sitting on the bed makes you uncomfortable, I don't mind."

"Thank you," she said gratefully, and carried the chair over, sitting and watching nervously while he poured for them both.

"Sweetening?" he asked, gesturing at the little pots of honey, maple syrup and sugar that had come with it.

"I've never had it sweet," she said, looking interested in spite of herself.

Jethann smiled. "I think you'll like it," he told her, and after a moment's thought, added a dollop of maple syrup to her cup, stirring it before handing it over.

Oranna took a very cautious sip, then smiled, a faint flush of colour coming back to her face. "Oh. _Oh_, that is good," she said, then frowned as she noticed he was taking his own cup plain. "You don't like it sweet?"

"I do, but I also adore the little pastries they send up with it, and I try not to have too many sweets in one day. And I usually have tea with several clients a day, so I'm afraid it does add up," he added regretfully, and took only two of the little fruit-filled flaky pastries for himself before nudging the little plate of them over toward Orana. "Go ahead," he urged her. "They're never as good once they cool down," he said, and bit into one carefully, cupping his other hand under his chin to capture the flaky crumbs, and making a little moaning sigh of pleasure. "Fig!" he exclaimed happily. "My favourite."

Orana nervously followed his example, eyes widening in pleased surprise. "I think this one is apple," she said, peering at the leftover half in her hand after swallowing.

"Likely. Cook makes a great variety of them, out of whatever fruit is on hand. Other things, too, but mostly I ask for the pastries to be sent up. Unless I have a client that I know would prefer something else, of course."

"You... you're allowed to make choices, then?" Orana asked, eyes widening slightly.

"Of course," Jethann said, and smiled warmly at her. "I do this work by choice, you know. It's not something I was forced into. And mostly I enjoy my job, sometimes very much so. It also pays a lot better than anything else I could have been employed for, that's for sure," he added, more than a little smugly. "Can you imagine _me_ being something like a dockworker? Hauling heavy crates around all day for a pittance? No, thank you! Anyway, yes, I can make choices. Including who _not_ to allow into my bed, if I've decided I don't like them."

"Oh," Orana said softly, looking surprised still.

"But we shouldn't talk about me, though I can happily do so for hours on end with a properly appreciative audience. Is there anything you want to talk about? About your past? Or we can avoid the subject entirely if you'd prefer and talk about something else. Music, perhaps? I can actually talk fairly intelligently about that; can't carry a tune myself but I know a fair amount about it. Here, have another pastry, or they're just going to end up going cold."

"Thank you," Orana said, flushing again, and took another. And talked; about music and plants mostly, but by the time he sent her off with the now-empty tray and her bucket and the laundry, she was looking much calmer and happier. And his client hadn't had to wait too long, just enough to put him into an excitingly irritated mood, which more than made up for it.

* * *

"You seem to have become quite close with Orana," Madame Lusine remarked a week or two later. "You're not getting personally involved with staff, are you?" she asked suspiciously.

"Simple friendship only," Jethann assured her. "We talk, sometimes we have tea together, if there's time for it. No romantic involvement, I assure you. It's just that Tevinter is very different from Kirkwall; she finds the differences hard to understand some times. She needed a friend; a willing ear, someone she could ask advice of when she wasn't sure about things."

Lusine's eyebrows rose slightly. "And _you_ volunteered?"

Jethann shrugged. "It just happened. Anyway, you can't claim that it's harming her; she's much happier here now than she was when she first came, isn't she? And still working just as hard as ever?"

"True," Lusine grudgingly agreed. "All right. Since it doesn't seem to be harming the productivity of either of you, I won't object."

"Oh, that reminds me... speaking of productivity... I had an idea."

"About?"

"About Orana, of course. Did you know she's a trained musician?"

"_Really?_"

"Yes, really. Sings and plays, though I think she's still a little too nervous to sing before an audience. But playing... that I think she could do quite well, given a chance and an instrument."

"Ah. An instrument... and just what does she play?" Lusine asked suspiciously.

"Lute, lap-harp, great-harp and flute, are what she admitted to. I suspect she may know a few more as well."

"Hrmm," Lusine looked thoughtful. "I might be able to lay my hands on a lap-harp, and certainly a lute or a flute. Long enough to see if it's worth altering her duties, anyway."

Jethann nodded, feeling pleased. "Just one thing..."

"Yes?" Lusine asked, the suspicion back in her voice.

"I still want her cleaning my room, as long as it doesn't conflict, at least until you find a new maid as good to replace her. She does a _very_ good job."

Lusine snorted, then smiled slightly. "We'll talk about it later. _If _it becomes necessary."

Jethann nodded acceptance to that, not bothering to let Lusine know that he'd already heard Orana play – on a lute borrowed for half an hour from an acquaintance of his – and was quite certain that it was going to be a _when_.

* * *

Jethann looked Orana over slowly, and then smiled approvingly. "You look gorgeous," he told her. "Come, look at yourself in the mirror," he said, and touched her elbow, urging her to turn around.

Orana bit her lip, carefully manicured hands clenching briefly into nervous fists, then turned. And stopped. And stared, green eyes widening in awe, her expression softening. "Oh," was all she said, and then just stood there, studying her transformed self in the mirror.

Jethann felt almost unbearably smug. It had taken a lot of work – and a lot of talking – to get her past her nervousness at the idea of performing for an audience, at least one where she could actually be seen instead of hidden away behind a screen or some potted plants. That had apparently been how she'd usually performed in Tevinter; out of sight, to be as little distraction as possible from the music itself. He'd also had to convince her that she needed to dress up for it, since that was also something she had no experience of. Her usual maid's outfit of sturdy, hard-wearing cloth wouldn't do. Most musicians of Jethann's acquaintance – and he knew almost all of them in Kirkwall, to one degree or another, for one reason or another – tended to dress like peacocks, to catch the eye and make sure people remembered them. He'd decided that what Orana needed was elegance, however, nothing gaudy.

He'd borrowed a dress from Serendipity for her, the other prostitute having quite good taste in dress, an extensive wardrobe, and best of all a soft heart for underdogs, which Orana certainly qualified as. It was a lovely thing, a sleeveless neck-to-ankles sheath of silky dark blue fabric, with a flowing robe over top of layers and layers of pale green gauze, belted with a gold-coloured belt of heavy links set with cut glass stones of dark blues and greens.

He'd also used some of his own cosmetics on her; applying it himself after seeing the results of her own attempt to make up her face. She'd had a good eye for what colours to use to go with the dress and her own colouration, overall, but the way she trowelled them on was appalling to his sensibilities. So now she had just the littlest touches of blue on her lids – a thin line of dark blue along the rim, pale blue higher up – that helped to bring out the green of her eyes, and her lips had been carefully painted in two shades of pink, with a darker edge around a paler core, and just the lightest touch of his palest rouge to her cheeks.

With her hands carefully manicured – also by him – and her long pale hair taken down out of its usual bun and brushed out into a silken, shiny cascade down her back – the shine achieved in part with the help of just the teensiest bit of scented oil – she looked marvellous.

He'd explained to Orana that she'd need to buy her own clothing for future performances, if indeed she did well enough today that there _were_ further performances. He was at least fairly certain that she'd try her best, now that she'd gotten used to the idea of earning wages, and knew she'd earn more for less work if she was a musician rather than a mere maid. And knowing that her best was quite good indeed.

The concept of wages was something it had taken Orana a while to understand, at least as anything that applied to her. She'd actually been frightened of spending any of hers at first, terrified that Lusine would demand it back. It had taken considerable talking on his part to convince her of the rightness of her being _paid_ for the work she did, and of then getting to enjoy the spending of said pay. Though he'd also taken the time to explain concepts like saving up for rent – if she ever wanted to live anywhere other than the crowded worker's dormitory here – groceries, clothing, saving for the future, putting something aside against a rainy day, and budgeting, as well as the benefits of the occasional special treat or vacation. She'd at least picked up the ideas of budgeting and saving quite readily, more so than many people he knew did. But then, as a slave, she'd have had to be frugal with whatever pittance of food or allowance of cloth or so forth that she'd received for her labours.

Convincing her to save her money, therefore, wasn't at all hard, while convincing her that she should spend at least some of it had taken considerable work. To date she'd only made a few decidedly minor purchases; testing the waters, and waiting to see if anything dreadful happened before working up her courage to try anything more adventurous, he guessed. Though he'd managed to talk her into buying some new underthings to wear with the borrowed dress, which frankly she'd needed anyway.

"That's really me?" she said after a while, and reached out to touch one hand to the mirror, her face lighting up with a surprisingly brilliant smile as her reflection reached out as well. "It is. I look... I look as richly dressed as a magister," she said, voice dropping in a combination of awe and fear.

"A noble, we'd say here," he reminded her, deciding that was _not _a good chain of thought for her to wander off down. "Except any of _them_ would complain about the quality of the cloth, and the fact that the belt is pot-metal and paste, not gold and gems. It's an illusion, my dear... that's what we chiefly deal in here. The appearance of things, not the actualities. Make-believe and what-if and let's-pretend. Pretending to be what we're not."

She gave him a peculiarly penetrating look, then faced herself in the mirror again. "And is that all this is too? A pretence?"

He smiled warmly at her over her shoulder. "Only if you want it to be. Inside, you'll always be the ex-slave from Tevinter, the same way I'll never stop being being the dockworker's brat from the alienage. But you can _become_ the woman in the mirror; a skilled musician, someone valued for more than just the hard labour you can perform, someone well-paid for the exercise of your talents."

She swallowed, and studied her reflection. "And I can still tell people no?"

His smile widened. "Yes. You can still tell people no, unless you _want_ to say yes. If you stay on here as a house musician instead of as a maid, you'll have a garret room of your own, with a door that locks, that you never have to share with anyone unless you want to. Though if money is involved in the sharing you'll need to clear it with Lusine first and pay the house percentage, or be thrown out."

That brought real colour to her cheeks. "I don't think I'd ever say yes to such a thing. Not when I can say _no_."

He laughed. "Never say never. You're a lovely woman, and as a musician you'll be seen by many people; there will be offers made, some rather crass and some quite politely offered. You can always say no, but there might come a time when you think that maybe you'd like to say yes. Don't rule it out, just remember what I told you, and if you're not sure, ask me about it. Or Madame Lusine. Or Serendipity, who is usually full of both naughty gossip and good advice. And now I think it's time we went downstairs, and took our places. Remember what I told you earlier; if you're feeling nervous about playing for so many people, pick out a single person who's listening attentively, and play as if you're playing just for them. All right?"

She nodded, face paling a little again with her nervousness. "All right," she agreed faintly.

They went down together, parting at the foot of the stairs, Orana heading over to a stool placed at one end of the room, a flute and a lute set on a small table beside it, Jethann to lean on the back of a chair occupied by one of his many friends. A smile and a kiss and a few soft pleasantries, then he moved to perch on his friend's lap, exchanging some discrete groping as the cost of having an otherwise excellent view of Orana's performance.

She took her seat and waited a minute or two until Madame Lusine came out of her office, at which point she picked up the lute, quickly checked that its tuning was still good, and then simply began to play. The noise in the room quickly faded away as people stopped to listen to the lovely little tune she was playing, what few conversations that did continue dropping considerably in volume. A number of people smiled, settling back or leaning forward to watch and listen. The lovely tune was followed with a more lively one, during which the conversations largely resumed, though at a much-reduced volume. Then a sprightly number on the flute, followed by a slower, sadder one. The rest of her performance he could only hear faintly, having taken his friend off upstairs, but he was still aware of the applause that followed the end of it, and glad of it.

* * *

"And?" he asked the next morning, when she came in with her bucket and cleaning supplies to care for his room.

She flushed and smiled, looking almost as pretty as she had the night before, despite the lack of makeup and the sturdy maid's outfit. "Madame Lusine says yes. And she also said to tell you that if you're going to wear out my hands on cleaning up your room, that you have to see to it that they're properly cared for. My hands, she means."

"Then that's what I'll have to do," he said complacently, then frowned. "You don't mind, do you? Still cleaning my room, I mean?"

She shook her head. "No. I don't mind. It's not forever... and I'd miss our talks and teas."

"We can have those even after someone else takes over the cleaning. And some day when you're a well-known and highly paid musician known throughout Kirkwall, I can be the naughty rumour that explains why you say _no_ to everyone else."

That made her laugh. Jethann smiled, and summoned their tea.


End file.
